I know what you're getting at, Zephira dear. All I'm
saying is, angels have no sex, so there are no female angels.
Period. I don't care what Betty Friedan says.

And I—replied Zephira, angered, don't care
what pseudo-Dionysius…

Come now! Zaniel interrupted. We all know that none of
us here has read any of the pseudo-Areopagite's works. Least of all
Zebulon. Donning his most sarcastic smile, he added: Remind us,
Zebulon: was it Ingrid Bergman who directed The Seventh
Seal?

Zebulon flushed. Are you going to tease me forever just because
of one tiny slip?

Would you rather have me mention the day you thought Tifereth
and Malchut were cocktails? Zaniel and Zephira burst out
laughing.

Oh, look who's here! Zita gestured toward the club's
entrance.

Zohar was clothed in radiance. He was accompanied by three
archangels; twelve platinum dragons were flying above his head; the
Phoenix was perched on one of his shoulders and the Roc on the other;
and the Midgard serpent, Jormungand, was buried in his hair. He was
carrying the Leviathan under one arm and the beast of the Apocalypse
under the other; Cerberus was sitting obediently at his foot, a major
demon was tucked in his pocket, and he held Death on a leash.

Hi, Zohar! Zion waved genially to Zohar, who acknowledged
their presence by a nod to the little group. Show-off! Zion
muttered under his breath.

Exactly, agreed Zaniel. Show-off. I mean, is he really
that desperate? Why, he'll just pick up yet another minor
deity to sleep with, and then dump him—or her—the day
after. I guess he always does.

What an asshole! Zebulon said. Oh, they say he even has
group sex with incubi, sometimes.

In any case, Zephira added, they should have made him
leave his… er… pets at the door. It's way too
crowded in here.

Not to mention the stink of that dog, Cerberus. I can
smell it from here. Zita sounded revolted.

Amen! Zeus joined the chorus. The Elysium
isn't the place it used to be.